[dropcap]Thursday.[/dropcap] 2 o’clock. And he texts. Can I take you out for a coffee before I come see your apartment? And I swoon a bit. Like someone just poked the butterflies. I mean sure. They’re not buzzing about like bees. Because the truth is I haven’t seen him in months. Heard his actual voice in months. And I need that stuff. The physical. The tangible. To be fall off my chair swoony. But it’s a start. Because whether he sensed it. Or knows me. Or just thinks it’s a good idea. I need a warm-up. A moment to get used to each other. A moment to check in and see if there’s still a spark. And ya know. I heart coffee. I’m a sober writer. What else is there?
I picked a Starbucks on campus. I don’t know if I mentioned this before. But in one of our recent text-convos he’d sent a photo of himself. No doubt in an attempt to get me to send a photo. Which I don’t do (more on this another time). But the point of me bringing this up was to tell you that after months of romanticizing his image in my head. The photo was a little. Meh. So you can understand my apprehension as I parked and walked inside. But there he was. And he smiled. And the moment I heard his voice. I don’t know what it is about his voice. But I just like it. It was good. We ordered drinks. Chatted about life. School. Work. His daughter. Hockey. I can’t lie though, there were definitely some awkward moments. But I think awkward more in the sense of like when you just kind of look at the other person. Absorb them. And nobody is saying anything. And then there’s blushing and the conversation starts again. Nervous laughter.
It doesn’t take long to finish our coffees. I order mine at kids temp so I’m pretty used to downing it right quick. And then we go to leave. He opens the door. We go to our cars. My place is only a couple of blocks away so we’re there before I can take a deep breath. I’m nervous. I’m excited. I still don’t know what I’m going to do. He says something about how nice it is here and I say something like yeah. I’ve never been more eloquent. Inside we wait for the elevator. It seems to take forever. He’s standing really close. And though I know his cologne is something super 90s like joop! or something ridiculous. It smells amazing. The doors open. His hand on the small of my back. And we walk inside. I press 14. Stand in the corner. My breathing sounds like a grizzly bear hovering over my shoulder. He seems not to notice. And then he does it. Like he knew. Like someone had told him. I mean it was just too cute. Grabs my hand. Just a finger or two. Like a baby. Sweet. Adorable. Exactly what I wanted.
It feels like it’s been 20 minutes. I look at the buttons. We’re only at the 7th floor. I look at him. He looks back. He’s standing so close. And then he kisses me. Short. Sweet. Quick. Nervous. Kind of like at Christmas when he just wanted to get that out of the way wink. He seems pleased with himself. Or me. Either or. ding. 14. We get to my door. And go inside. I’m nervous. I try not to justify the smallness of my apartment. I’m getting a second BA. I’m working hard. I have a big career ahead of me. This is just a stepping stone. I don’t need to justify myself. Least of all to him. So I say nothing. Just let him look around. Which takes about 10 seconds. Joking. He goes to the window. Checks out the view. It is a pretty rad view. 14 floors up. Overlooking Wreck Beach. Lucky Duck.
I asks if he wants a glass of water or something. And by something I mean all I have is water I say. We laugh. My apartment is completely empty. Except for 2 glasses, a folded up quilt, a fan and an iPod dock. The few things that either couldn’t fit in my car on the way home the day before or I thought might be useful today. I’m so creepy lol. Sure he says. And I go to get the glasses down off the shelf. He comes up behind me. My hips against the counter. His hips behind mine. His arms go around my waist. And he pulls my hair to the side. A handful of curls and he brushes them away. Exposes my neck. Kisses me. Soft. Smooth. Good.
I slowly turn around. Brush my body against his. He’s ready to go in a heartbeat. But I need more. Longer. Slower. And so he takes his time. We kiss like teenagers. Kiss like danger. Kiss like hot. Kiss like everything. His hands grab my ass and with strength I never saw coming. He lifts me up onto the counter. My face now up to his height. Fold my legs around his body. I cannot express how important good kissing is, boys. MAJOR. And we’ve got it going on. His tongue. My tongue. Play. Swirl. Lower lip. Upper lip. Together. Big kiss. Passion Passion Passion. Small kiss small kiss. I slowly drag my tongue across the middle of his lower lip. Gentle. Barely touching. Make him beg for it. Deep breath. Playful. Sexy.
He feels my body like it’s the first time. Which for some areas it is. When my bra comes off I hear him moan a bit. My ego soars through the roof. I lift off his shirt and throw it somewhere. Slide down off the counter. His hands in my hair and he tugs a little. In the exact right way. Tugs some more. He’s been listening. He knows. It’s flawless. It’s seamless. It’s perfection. He turns be back towards the counter. Lifts my skirt just a bit and pulls the Red Lacies slowly down my legs. He goes to undo my skirt. Leave it on I say. And he gets it. Smiles. His hands glide over my ass across my hips and come together over my lady bits. He leaves one hand there and uses the other to undo his jeans. The first hand disappears for only a heart beat (safety first kids) and he’s back. One hand reaches around to my lady bits. The other across my chest. Strong he holds me. Soft he holds them. I arch my back. Lean just a little bit forward. And he slides in.
I’m a writer but I’m not sure how to write the rest. Because when I think back it’s all in pictures and sounds. There’s onomatopoeia I don’t know the words for. Sounds that I can’t describe with ooohs and ahhhs because that’s just in bad pornos and not real sex. But it’s strong and good. It’s part bears in the woods and part swan lake or something equally as graceful. There are smiles and eyes open. Panting and eyes closed. His right arm, the one across my chest. Slides up to my neck. Gently at first. Then stronger. Holding me. Controlling me. Because he knows thats what I want. At one point I turn my neck. Lean back a bit. And his face is right there. Lips brushing against lips. Tongues stretch. Kisses that strain to hold. He works his magic until I’m done. And then I work mine until his is too. We’re all smiles. I lay the quilt across my bed. My studio apartment dorm bed. And we lay there. Exhausted. Exhilarated. Satisfied. The what if being answered. Butterflies fulfilled.
That’s not exactly what happens. Because this is me after all and shit is just never straight forward laid out awesome like that. And this is The Nick Name. A man who I would characterize with epic retardation except for the fact that if he’s retarded what does that make me for playing along? I’d rather not think about it. See the thing of the thing is. I read all the comments. From blog readers. From close personal friends. And you all had valid points. (I’d be more alarmed that a great majority of you were sending me into the Lion’s Den if it wasn’t for the fact that I know you’re doing it because you know I could handle whatever the Den had in store for me). That being said. I have a gut. I often don’t listen to it. I blame my eternal optimism and the faith I have to have that people are A. not all retarded and B. not all total shit. But regardless I do have a gut. That tells me things. And on Wednesday night. My gut was telling me. It was not a good sign that when I texted The Nick Name during the Canucks game and there was no response. Even though us hanging out on Thursday had been his idea. So I sent a text. Because I sure as fuck wasn’t going to wake up on Thursday and get all gussied up and drive out to UBC only to get bailed on or something.
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